First Step (On the Road to Something New)
by Kestre Wynde
Summary: People always talk about starters. Every celebrity interview asks, "So what was your first pokemon and how did you meet?" Magazine articles recommend asking about your date's starter as a simple, friendly icebreaker. Romcoms have a cliche flashback to the main character meeting their future pokemon partner. But really, people glamorize things a lot. Short story collection.
1. Amy (A Lazy Summer by the Water)

Ahh. Today is nice. The air is warm and languid, a light breeze taking the edge off the heat. Scattered clouds drift across the sky like they've got all the time in the world to get where they're going. The water flows past the posts of the little pier.

Amy lies back flat on the sun-warmed wood, idly swinging her legs back and forth. Her fishing rod's loose in her hand. She's not really expecting anything to bite, but she'd told her mother she was going out fishing and Amy doesn't like lying to her mother, even over small things like this. Besides, it's relaxing to watch the little orange float bobbing up and down over the current.

Her thoughts drift as well. They'll be back at school in a few weeks, minus those of her classmates who've decided to take time off for a journey. It'll be strange looking around the familiar classroom and seeing so many empty seats. But probably a little exciting too, she thinks. Holly and Theo got their first pokemon last month and maybe Fern did as well, Amy's not sure. It'll be good to catch up with them, see what they have and how their pokemon get along with everyone else's.

Amy doesn't have a pokemon yet, but there's still time. She's not really interested in doing a pokemon journey - she's happy enough hearing her friends tell her excited recounts of what they've been up to and seeing their photos of exotic places. So there's no hurry, no rush.

Just then, there's a tug on the line. Amy sits up and reels it in, but it's just a magikarp. She shrugs and tosses it back in, but right as it hits the water, there's a quick flash of orange and a frenzy of splashing. It clears to reveal a lithe buizel, sharp teeth clamped tight around the limp body of the magikarp as it swims back to the riverbank. Amy watches with gentle interest as it eats the magikarp, dropping the bones back in the water, then grooms itself and curls up in the sun.

It's still watching her, though. Every now and then, its head tilts in her direction, dark eyes catching the light. So an hour later when Amy gets another bite and another magikarp, she tosses it back closer to the buizel. It eats this one too.

By the time the sun is sitting low on the horizon and it's time to head back, the buizel's had three more magikarp thanks to Amy. She stands up and starts wandering back towards the house, the buizel following her a few minutes before apparently realizing that it's going in the wrong direction and scampering off. Amy smiles.

"Thanks for keeping me company," she calls. The buizel squeaks in response.

* * *

The next day when she returns to the pier, the buizel turns up after half an hour. And then the next day. And the next. After about a week, it's progressed to sitting by her side and diving in to grab the fish as soon as she pulls anything up. Her mother laughs when Amy tells her about it.

"I'd say it likes you," she tells Amy with a smile. "Why not try capturing it? I think my Renny would like having another water-type around, too."

So Amy takes a pokeball along with her fishing rod. The buizel's there as expected, curled up at the end of the pier, eyes glinting up at her. She settles in next to it, stroking a gentle hand along its back before casting out into the river. They sit in companionable silence, listening to the slosh of water.

When she brings up a fish, the buizel eats it as usual. As it licks the blood from its fur, Amy pulls the pokeball from her pocket and holds it out to the buizel. She grins as it tilts its head a little, sniffing at the pokeball before dismissing it and going back to its grooming. This should be pretty easy.

Amy opens the pokeball and the buizel has just enough time to look up in startlement before red light engulfs it. The pokeball rocks in her hand and Amy has a moment of panic - has she misjudged this? Will the buizel be frightened or angry, will it try to run away? Has she broken its short-lived trust in her? There's only one way to find out. Amy clicks the button and lets the buizel out.

It looks around, checks over itself, then turns to face Amy. She holds her breath for a moment as it watches her, then lets out a relieved laugh as the buizel simply continues grooming the spots it had missed earlier.

"Thank you," she whispers, and her buizel nuzzles her fingers.


	2. Lillian (A Sacrifice Made for Love)

As they pull into the driveway, Lillian's dad lets out an angry sigh. Their trashcan has been tipped over on its side and garbage is strewn about across the street. "Thirty minutes," he says, probably to the unknown trashcan attacker since he isn't looking at Lillian in the passenger seat. "I leave the house for thirty minutes to pick up my daughter from school and this happens. Just what I needed today."

"Who do you think it was, Dad?" Lillian asks cautiously. He's been pretty stressed recently - Lillian knows she's not supposed to know that every job application he's sent in has been turned down, that the rent's gone up again, that her mom's been working late to try and cover the gaps. But there's been too many nights where she couldn't sleep and she'd snuck out of her bedroom only to overhear her parents talking quietly in the kitchen.

He sighs again. "Probably just some stray. A poochyena or a zigzagoon, something like that. Lillian, sweetheart, sorry to ask but could you clean this up for me? I've got to go make a phone call."

"Sure, Dad." She follows him inside long enough to dump her bag in her room and grab the broom, then goes back out. There's muddy pawmarks on the pavement and long dark hairs caught on a broken tin, but Lillian doesn't know enough to identify the pokemon. Not many of her friends have pokemon of their own yet and their school doesn't have the facilities for training.

Lillian wants to be a trainer, has done since she was six and she read the __Felicity Mars__ books. Felicity had seemed so cool and daring: travelling with her loyal arcanine, foiling evil plots, and discovering ancient treasures. Lillian's since realised how unrealistic the books are, but the idea of seeing new places with a pokemon by her side is still pretty appealing.

The problem is that she won't be able to get a pokemon until she's older.

Lillian knows how expensive a pokemon can be, especially when taking training into account. Anything other than perhaps a silcoon or cascoon still needs food, grooming equipment, vet visits (pokemon centers are only free for travelling trainers and emergencies), a specialised environment if it might grow or evolve into anything larger than about a foot tall, socialisation with other pokemon and humans - the list goes on. Neither of her parents have pokemon of their own - her dad had as a kid, but he'd released them after finishing the standard year - so nothing in their home is set up to accommodate one. And although she knows there are trainers that do so, it'd be cruel to keep a pokemon in its ball every night.

Once she's finished cleaning up the trash and the bin is upright again, Lillian heads back inside. Her dad's still on the phone just inside the kitchen, but he gives her a tired smile when she tells him quietly that the bin's sorted. She goes back to her room and settles in with her homework - the least she can do to help out her parents is not to cause them further stress about her grades. The worksheets aren't too difficult anyway. Twenty maths questions, write a short poem, describe four different methods of evolution… Lillian's trying to remember the proper name for trade-based evolutions (alternating familial something social something - nope, it's gone) when her dad comes in.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he says, leaning against her desk. "Thanks for taking care of that for me. Your mom and I really appreciate how much you've been helping out around the house."

"No problem, Dad," she tells him, standing and giving him a hug.

He smiles down at her, the warmth in his expression briefly lifting the stress lines from his face. "We were also talking about… well, your birthday this weekend. One of my old friends has a surskit that he caught last year but isn't really fitting with his team and he's willing to sell her to us. I know it's not a cool starter like you probably want, but she's already partly trained and you'd have a few months to get to know each other before starting out properly. Is that something you'd like?"

For a moment, Lillian can't speak. Her throat is thick with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes. "Dad," she chokes out, wrapping her arms around him tighter. "I would __love__ that. Thank you so, so much."

Lillian knows that her first few weeks will be difficult. Surskit are delicate and she'll need to catch something sturdier pretty early on. But that her parents are willing to do this for her means the world, and she won't disappoint them by taking it for granted.


	3. Sam (A Longing for Something Unknown)

Author's Note: This one turned out a lot longer and more angsty than the first. Don't worry, there'll be more fluff soon.

* * *

"Gotta watch out when you're driving this far out of town," Danny's dad says cheerfully, his big hands loose on the steering wheel. "Lotta deerling try to run across the road, and where there's deerling, you'll always find sawsbuck alongside."

Sam peers out the window, Danny leaning across to look over his shoulder. The trees race by on either side of the narrow dirt road and while he can see flashes of movement - a tranquill flitting past, a watchog popping up in alarm, a crustle trundling along - there's no sign of either deerling or sawsbuck. "Why do you need to watch out for sawsbuck, Mr. Wheeler?" Sam asks.

Danny's dad laughs. "Because they stand in the middle of the road and try to ram the car. People think they're real pretty with all those flowers in their horns in the spring, but they forget that a sawsbuck's about as solid as a tree. And it ain't pretty if you hit one, for us or for the sawsbuck."

"Dad clipped a deerling once," Danny tells him with this grin on his face like what he's about to say is an almighty joke. "We'd slowed down enough that it only got knocked over a little, but the mama sawsbuck came outta the woods and charged us. We had to replace the side door right where you're sitting."

Sam shivers at that and the conversation turns to other things. By the time they reach the campsite, he's forgotten the remark and the afternoon sun's sweeping long and warm through the branches, lighting up the leaves all orange-green-gold. Mr Wheeler lets out his conkeldurr Lanyon, who lumbers off to inspect a nearby sapling, and Danny lets out his herdier Pep, who immediately starts sniffing at a swadloon huddled under a bush.

Even though he knows it's stupid, that Danny and his dad already know he doesn't have a pokemon and that they wouldn't say anything bad if he never wanted one at all, Sam still feels a pang of awkwardness and shame. He's been asking his dad to come out and catch something with him and his dad keeps saying yes, yes, next weekend, but somehow every time next weekend comes around, his dad's too busy or he's too tired. And Danny's dad had invited them __both__ along on this camping trip ("God _ _damnit__ , Steve! Neglecting Sam won't make Valerie fall in love with you again-" no, he hadn't heard that, he hadn't heard Mr Wheeler shouting at his dad), but his dad had decided to stay at home and send Sam along by himself.

"Hey, Sam, check out the markings on the ground over here! You think they're from a whirlipede?" Danny's grinning at him wide and hopeful, so Sam goes over to look. Sure enough, there's a deep groove carved through the leaf-litter and into the soft earth, with grey-brown feathers scattered nearby. There's no sign of the whirlipede itself, though.

"Maybe it got eaten by the unfezant?" Sam suggests.

Danny makes a face. "No way. They're nearly the same size! An unfezant couldn't carry one of those bugs. It'd get spiked if it tried."

"But then where'd the whirlipede go? If it'd rolled off, there'd be a trail."

"Boys, would you mind givin' your old man a hand over here?" Both of them jump a little, looking over to where Mr. Wheeler and Lanyon are trying to set up a four-man tent. (Sam ignores the guilty curl of warmth that 'your' sends through him). They go over to help, hoisting the flycover and hammering guy-rope pegs in, and between the four of them, the tent is up in no time and they can move their bags in from the car.

Sam collects kindling from the edge of the clearing and Danny finds a couple of larger logs, Pep dragging a giant branch along behind her, then Danny's dad pulls out a steel knife and what looks like half a fire stone. "An old trick from my Ranger days," he says with a wink, striking the knife along the broken edge of the stone. Bright hot sparks flare up and fall onto the carefully arranged grid of sticks, catching quickly and settling into a warm steady flickering of flames.

They sit for a while as the night slowly envelops them: the humans chatting idly, Pep curling up pressed against Danny's side, Lanyon examining scratchmarks in the five-foot steel bar he carries. Sam remembers hearing the story from his dad a long time ago: Lanyon had originally belonged to Sam's mom, Valerie. She and Sam and Danny's fathers had travelled together as teenagers on a six-month road trip of south-west Unova and north Orre, Valerie practising for her League challenge and the boys along for the fun.

Lanyon had been one of her strongest team members, caught before they'd left and evolving quickly, blitzing through battle after battle with the solid steel she'd bought for him. Valerie was a great trainer, Dad had said, firm but kind and skilled at helping a pokemon bring out their potential, but Lanyon hadn't enjoyed battling like the rest of the team, had only stuck with it out of loyalty for his trainer. So she'd traded Lanyon to her good friend David Wheeler and they'd kept in touch throughout the years, through college and Valerie going professional and Lanyon evolving, through marriage and jobs and kids.

Sam wonders if it hurts his dad, seeing Lanyon now.

The conversation had lulled, Sam lost in his thoughts, and when he looks up, the moon is visible through the branches. Danny's starting to nod off, yawning as much as he's speaking.

"Sam…" Danny's dad says. "You know… we're just down the road if you ever need us, alright? You or your dad. If anything happens…" He hesitates. "If anything happens, anything at all, you come to us. Danny and I'll look after you."

Sam nods. "Thanks, Mr. Wheeler," he says quietly.

"An' in the morning, we'll help you catch something, if that's what you want. Probably do you good." __Do you good to have something to distract you,__ is what he isn't saying, but Sam doesn't mind. The sentiment's true, and if he has a pokemon, he can travel and battle and maybe meet up with his mom somewhere on the road.

* * *

Sam wakes slowly to the warm press of sunlight against the tent, the cooing of pidove and the subtle rasp-and-click of leavanny weaving, the distant creaking of trees. Danny's still asleep, snoring away with his hair in messy tufts, but when Sam clambers out from the tent, he sees Mr Wheeler sitting next to the relit campfire with a piece of bread speared on a stick.

"Mornin', Sam!" he calls cheerfully. "Want some toast?" Sam joins him by the fire and they cook breakfast, chatting about school. Danny comes out about fifteen minutes later, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and everything feels easygoing and relaxed. It's nice.

"Look at that," Danny whispers, going still as he gestures at the edge of the clearing. There's a deerling picking its way through the bushes towards them, ears pointed forward and its tail flicking back and forth. Its coat is dappled green fading towards orange along its chest and flanks, mirroring the coming change in the leaves above them. In the trees further back, there's a few more deerling and a pair of sawsbuck, watching but making no move.

Danny's dad chuckles and tosses a corner of bread to the deerling. It comes forward, gives the bread a cursory sniff, then eats it in a few quick bites before lifting its head and looking at them for more. "That's one that's used to humans," he says. "Say, a deerling wouldn't be a bad choice for a starter. If they can get sunlight, then they don't need to eat much, you've got enough of a garden to keep it happy, and when it evolves you'd be able to ride it. What do you say, Sam?"

At Danny's whistle, Pep trots over. The deerling startles a little, but lowers its head to touch its nose to Pep's. Pep yips and licks it, wagging her tail, and the deerling huffs at her. "Pep likes her," Danny says with a grin.

Sam's torn. On the one hand, the idea of running next to his deerling at track practice, of stroking his hand down its neck, of seeing it relaxing in the sun in their backyard, fills his chest with a swelling warmth. On the other, though… "What about my dad?" he says doubtfully. "I don't know if he'd like me bringing home a pokemon without asking."

For a moment, Mr Wheeler looks old and sad. "You let me talk to your dad, Sammy. I'll make sure he ain't angry at you." Then it passes and he grins like his son, the same expression despite their different features. He carefully stands, crosses to the car, and pulls out a pokeball from the glovebox, tossing it over to Sam. "Give it a shot."

Sam slowly moves over to the deerling, bread in one hand and pokeball in the other. He holds out the bread and the deerling barely hesitates before nibbling at it, so he gently, __gently__ stretches out his fingertips and brushes them against its chest. Its coat is warm like he'd expected, but the texture is odd, each hair wide and flat and smooth like grass. It pushes its nose into his chest, snuffling for more bread, and Sam giggles a little. Then he clicks the button on the pokeball and presses it to the deerling.

The pokeball wiggles a little, then stills. One of the sawsbuck lets out a sharp snort and stomps a foot, so he lets the deerling out and it bounds over to the sawsbuck to nuzzle at it before coming back to him. The rest of the herd keeps watching, some of the other deerling bleating to each other, but none of them move to do anything.

"Well, look at that! One of the smoothest captures I've seen," Mr Wheeler says. "You got your mother's touch, Sam."

And that brings all those old worries and fears rushing back, torn between wanting to go find his mother and wanting to stay with his dad, but now it feels like he might actually be able to make that choice. He doesn't know if he wants to smile or cry.


	4. Alec (An Unexpected Afternoon)

"Mooooooom," Alec whines, putting his best effort into it. "Mom, I'm so boooooooooored."

She doesn't even look up from her phone. "Then go find something to do."

"But __what,__ " he says, draping himself over the back of the couch where she's sitting. His mom's engrossed in some sort of game involving feeding hungry pokemon the right pokepuff before time runs out. It's clearly not important enough for her to be __not listening to him.__

"You've got books, games, TV - go round to your friend's place, if you want. Just don't hang around here being annoying." She taps at her screen a few times, up up down left, and a overly cheerful victory jingle rings out. Ugh.

"None of my friends are around. And I don't feel like reading or playing."

Finally she pauses her game, but only long enough to roll her eyes at him. "Seriously, Alec? You're a healthy nine-year-old boy and it's a beautiful sunny Saturday. Go. Find something. To do."

Ughhhhhhh. Fine. This is clearly going nowhere. Alec slouches through the house to the kitchen, grabs an apple from the fridge, and slumps down against the wall. He takes a morose bite, making sure to chew with his mouth open as loudly as he can even though his mom can't see and probably can't hear him over her game. As he's trying to decide what to do, Nem slinks in through the backyard door and comes over, butting his head against Alec's shoulder before yawning in his face. Alec wrinkles his nose - the pyroar's breath smells like burnt sausages.

"Get off me, it's too hot for you to sit on me," he says, shoving at Nem's chest. Nem doesn't even budge, of course. His mane is uncomfortably warm against Alec's wrists, like standing too close to a fireplace, so Alec scoots sideways until he can stand up. Nem follows, batting at his ankles, and Alec's just about to complain to Mom about her dumb pyroar not leaving him alone when he gets an idea.

"Mom, can I take Nem out to the nature trail?" he shouts.

There's a pause, like she's thinking about it. "I guess so," she calls back. "Just make sure you're back before your mama gets home. And don't burn down anything."

"Sure thing!" Hehehe. Normally his parents won't let him in the forest by himself, since he doesn't have his own pokemon and all, but Nem's so lazy that he'll probably go to sleep as soon as they're round the corner and then Alec can do what he likes. Alec grabs his backpack and phone, snags a cereal bar and a bottle of soda then, as an afterthought, tosses in a couple of pokeballs. Never know when a rare pokemon might suddenly appear, after all!

"Come on, Nem, we're going for a walk," he says, taking Nem's pokeball from the little table next to the front door and shoving it in his shorts pocket. He pulls the door open wide and the pyroar obligingly pads along behind him as he heads out towards the edge of town. His house is on the outskirts of Laverre, so it's not too far, but it still takes about fifteen minutes to get there and sadly, Nem stays next to him the whole way along. Alec gives him a dirty look.

"Oh, so __now__ you actually wanna walk, huh?" he mutters, and Nem chuffs back at him. Ignoring Nem, Alec turns to survey the forest before him. He's been here before, of course, but knowing that he's here by himself (mostly) makes every tree seem taller, every shadow deeper, every rustle of leaves or grass more thrilling. He strides forward into the shade of the canopy, ready to explore and uncover the secrets of this new and fantastical place, and promptly steps in a bog.

Nem chuffs at him again, in what sounds suspiciously like a leonine laugh.

"Ugh, shut up. Dumb pyroar." Alec tries to shake the mud off his sneakers, but it's no good. Anyway. Something bright in the reeds catches his eye and he goes over to investigate, finding a shelmet with its shell closed up tight. There's a karrablast nearby too, swaggering around the shelmet and spitting at it, but it scurries off when it notices him. Alec waits a few minutes, but the shelmet stays closed up so he shrugs and moves away.

Nem's __finally__ sprawled out under a tree (the bark is slowly cracking as it dries out and the ground is steaming around him), although when Alec glances back, Nem has one eye open watching him. Alec sticks his tongue out at him and goes deeper into the forest, taking better care to watch out for puddles.

He wanders for a while, sometimes following the path and sometimes pushing his way through bushes just to see what's around. At one point he finds a roseli bush with small insects clustered around the overripe fruit - Alec almost misses the bellsprout hiding nearby until it lashes out blindingly fast and snaps a fly from the air. Later he catches a glimpse of purple out in the swamp - a goomy! If he went in to school on Monday with a goomy, it'd be __so cool__ \- but once he's knee-deep in water with a pokeball in hand, he finds it's just a quagsire's back and he turns back in disgust.

The trees here are thicker than they were at the entrance. It's getting late and he's long since eaten his cereal bar, so Alec decides it's time to go back home and raid the fridge. The way back is just… hm. Alec tries to spot which way he came in, but it's hard to see much in the gloom. He can smell a heavy sweetness to the left, though, so maybe the roseli bush is over that way?

As he starts moving, something splashes on his shoulder.

Alec looks up and that's when the carnivine drops. He screams but it's in front of him, vines wrapping around his arms. Carnivine don't eat people. Carnivine don't eat people, it'll realise and drop him in a minute, but its mouth's opening wider and wider and he's struggling to tear himself free and __it's not letting him go.__

Something __roars__ like an oncoming firestorm and Nem smashes through the undergrowth, fangs bared and mane blazing. Flame billows out from his jaws. The carnivine hurriedly releases him but Nem stalks over and bites down hard on its tendril. It screeches in pain and explodes into a flurry of whipping vines, striking at Nem's face and eyes. One hits home and Nem snarls but doesn't let go. There's blood on his forehead. The air's getting painfully hot.

Alec looks around desperately. The leaves nearby are already starting to burn - if Nem doesn't stop soon, the forest might really catch on fire. "Nem!" he snaps. "Nem, __stop!__ Look what you're doing!" But Nem isn't listening, too caught up in the battle. He can't recall Nem in case the carnivine decides to keep attacking him instead but there's nothing else that'll help, nothing else to hand -

Hand. Alec's still got the empty pokeball in his hand! With desperate hope, he throws it at the carnivine as hard as he can. The carnivine is sucked inside and it drops, bounces, shakes once twice thrice, then clicks.

Alec falls to his knees, his breath rattling in his throat. Slowly, the temperature returns to normal and Nem comes closer, nudging at him with his nose and licking his face. "I'm okay," Alec croaks. "I'm okay, Nem. I'm okay. Sorry for calling you dumb all those times."

He shudders, then crawls over to the fallen pokeball and picks it up. For a moment, he just sits and looks at it. Then Alec bursts out laughing. "This is my starter," he gasps out. Nem flicks his tail back and forth, giving a concerned-sounding huff. "This is my starter and it nearly ate me and you nearly lit the whole forest on fire, Nem. I'm gonna go in on Monday and tell everyone and it's gonna be __awesome.__ "


End file.
